A Starting Point
by Erlangga Andika Yudha
Summary: Here lies the story of a devilish revenant, the murkier sins of men, and how two lost souls came together to shape their unlikely future, all from the eyes of one photographer, Takaba Akihito, namely, the lover.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Hello! My name's Erlandy. Thank you for visiting this story of my all-time favorite ship, Asami Ruichi/Takaba Akihito! Needless to say, I'm not new to AO3 as a reader. I've been involved in some fan fiction archiving sites such as FF and AO3, but this is actually the first time I'm posting anything here. I've posted in FF several times before, although most of my stories have been deleted due to some complications. It's been years since I last touched my keyboard as an amateur writer. Now, I think I'm quite ready to start everything from scratch again. Sorry for the weird pacing or any mistakes that you'll probably find. Please feel free to DM me about anything regarding the story, or anything, really!**

**Thank you and enjoy!**

*

Balancing two bags between occupied arms in the rush hour of Tokyo's subway required ability not many could muster. The young man knew when and where to move before anyone else did. He always knew. One leg ahead of the other, head ducked or lifted, and maneuvering away before a long line of passenger could hit him square on the shoulder. Not to say he enjoyed being stuck in crowds, but Takaba liked the feeling of crisscrossing through quick-moving people and coming out fastest at the end. Reminded him of that racing game he used to play as a boy. It was a little victory he celebrated every time.

Taking the nearest exit, he climbed the stairs two steps at a time. Bright lights, jam-packed streets, and multiple unidentifiable city sounds engulfed his senses above. The night was young. People of various age and status roamed this city, some had just left work and looking forward to a quality time with friends and colleagues, some rushing to get where home is, some, usually younger ones, walked to and from outlet stores without significant purpose beside trying not to get bored.

Humming nonsense all the way through the crowd, ducking here and there once again, Takaba headed uptown. Tonight was a special occasion for him alone. He got promoted to permanent employee earlier in the day. After almost two years drifting afloat from job to job, as a photographer on hire, he was barely able to buy onigiri once a day, let alone pay for his own rent. Kou played a huge role in his survival. Had his friend not generously let Takaba rent a room in his apartment for a mind-blowingly low price, Takaba would accept Daiki's offer to work in his brothel, or worse, forced to run back home with tail between his legs.

The young man decided, for once, he'd be the one to buy his generous friend dinner.

"KOU!"

In excitement and haste, Takaba slammed open the front door to their shared living space. "Kou! Got some good news for you!"

Said friend was apparently dozing off on the couch a matter of seconds ago. He stared at Takaba with sleepy eyes, bed hair sticking out from odd angles. "What? Motherfucker."

"Wake up, Kou! Here, for you!"

Three packs of melon bread were dumped on his lap, then sushi, Pocky, curry bowl, and lastly, six cans of beer. It took ten whole seconds for Kou to finally register such oddity. "Fucker. You suddenly rich, man? What up?" He opened the steaming bowl of curry, growing more suspicious by the second, "Man, it's meat?"

"Well, dude, what the fuck you expect?"

Kou wrinkled his forehead, "I dunno man, some cheaper shit?"

Takaba snorted.

"Don't fucking laugh, tell me what up?"

Taking hold of one melon bread, Takaba tore open the package. He snickered smugly after taking a bite, "You know, you've been kinda nice to me for two years-"

"Damn right."

"Shut it," Takaba warned with a playful irk to his tone, "As I said, you've been kinda nice, so I thought…."

Kou raised an eyebrow, "Ya thought?"

"I thought 'Imma buy you dinner for once 'cause I got hired!"

His friend's sleepy eyes widened a fraction, before opening even wider a second later, "Man, you serious?!"

"Yeah, man!"

"What the fuck! Come here, man!" Kou abandoned his post on the couch, melon bread and Pocky dropping off his lap. The two of them came together in a tight hug, Kou slapped his back three times, typical of him. "I almost thought you accepted Daiki's offer!"

"Dude! Gross! You want me to suck some old man's cock to buy you these?"

"Fuck, no!"

Both men laughed the news away in joy, basking in the glow of the situation. Takaba had known a moment to celebrate when he sees one. They enjoyed what little victory they got, and just like that, as the hours ticked by, six cans of beer were consumed before sunrise.

*

"What do you think?"

Takaba had been whirling around in front of Kou's standing mirror for almost an hour. First day at work seemed to motivate the young man into dressing properly for once in his life. Kou was busy rummaging through his wardrobe to see whether the shirt he bought last week could fit into Takaba's slighter frame. He poked his head from his room, judging the Hawaiian shirt his friend was wearing. "You want me to be honest or less offending?"

Takaba gave him a dry stare.

"Honest it is," Kou almost chuckled, "Looks lame."

The young man threw his hands up in exasperation. "God damned-" He stared at himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. Kou was right, he looked like trash. This shirt might look good on his friend but on him? Nah. His shoulder was way too boney.

"Aw, yo! Takaba!"

Still grumbling to himself, struggling to take off the borrowed shirt, he stalked into Kou's room. "What?!" He was met with a wide grin. Kou shoved another shirt to his face, "Try this one! It's an old-ass garment but it's supposed to fit you just right."

The fabric in Takaba's hands felt soft. As he looked it over, he sent back to his friend, "I never saw you use this one."

"Yeah. Doesn't fit me anymore."

Shrugging away the response, Takaba put on the new piece of attire on top of his inner t-shirt. He went back to the mirror and checked himself out. The button down had a checkered pattern with three color combination. He contemplated for a while. The hues complimented his eye and hair, it goes with his jeans, and most importantly, it didn't droop sadly from his shoulder.

"Told you it'd fit."

Takaba sent a pleasant smile through the mirror. "You think so?"

"Yeah, man. Honest." Kou made a hasty thumbs up while nodding his approval.

"Alright. I'll borrow this one."

His friend rolled his eyes, "At last." The man picked Takaba's camera bag, fixing the straps and handing it back to him. "Here you go." They waved quick goodbye at the door. Kou wished him luck and Takaba thanked him, promising to buy another dinner today as he ran descending the flight of stairs.

It was barely five-past-eight in the morning, but Tokyo had buzzed with life. Takaba was happy that finally! Finally, for once in his life he could (almost) be independent from having to ask others for help. He made a small promise with every step that he took, he'd rent his own place soon, he'd pay back everything Kou had graciously given him for the past two years. Takaba had not the heart to disappoint anyone anymore. Determination flared up to life inside him today, and he'd put it to good use.

Despite not needing to rush, Takaba jogged excitedly through the streets. He couldn't wipe the genuine yet dumb smile off his face. As per usual, the young man ducked here and there to avoid crashing into another pedestrian. People might see him odd for the noticeable bounce in his steps, but Takaba couldn't care less. It was his first day as a permanent employee. Anyone would feel entitled to some excitement.

It took him around thirty minutes to get to his workplace: a moderately reputable production house that focused on content creation and photography for several monthly magazines. Kemushi Studio, as written in its minimalistic logo at the entrance, was located thirty minutes downtown from where he and Kou lived, right between Akihabara and Tokyo's financial district, Marunouchi.

Everything sported an air of casual professionalism right from the welcome mat to the reception desk behind the main entrance. Takaba entered quietly despite the closed sign on the glass door, he was immediately greeted by a young lady at the desk. "Takaba-san!"

Takaba bowed slightly with the brightest smile on his face, "Kobayashi-san! Good morning!"

Kobayashi marched to him from her station, she patted him on the shoulder, "Heard you got hired last week! Congratulation! I knew Shunsuke would concede one day."

"Kobayashi-san, you're flattering me." Takaba's smile turned shy, he could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks.

Said woman laughed, "Oh, no! Your work ethics deserves more than a permanent staff status, trust me. And come on, call me Miyuki, we're on the same team now."

Takaba bowed lightly once more, "Thank you, Miyuki-san. Please take care of me."

Miyuki Patted him some more before herding Takaba to their supervisor's room, Itou Shunsuke. She knocked on the door thrice, loudly, almost yelling at the equally yelling voice from inside, asking what she wanted. "The new guy's here, Shun! Come greet him."

Silence.

Then, abruptly, the door opened, revealing a man clad in similar attire as Takaba whose face he'd barely known. They had met once, long before this Itou guy deemed him skilled enough to join the production crew. He was a decent looking man in his thirties. They stared at one another a second too long before Itou decidedly broke the ice by conjuring a hand to shake.

"Takaba Akihito, nice to meet you."

The younger man immediately shook his direct supervisor's hand, again, bowing slightly in the process. "Nice to meet you, Itou-san. Thank you for hiring me as part of your team."

Just like Miyuki did previously, Itou gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder, "It was long overdue, Takaba. I should've hired you two years earlier."

The three of them continued to communicate with one another throughout the day. Takaba was shown around by another junior employee, Hiromu Araki, made acquaintances with two more of his six personnel team, Kuroda Megumi and Takahashi Hattori, and ended up in a studio that he'd often be working in as a photographer. Miyuki gave him some details on the current project they were taking, along with miniscule details like which models from which agencies they'd be dealing with today and how to cooperate with them.

Takaba's first job was fulfilling but none the less draining. After a brief two-hour introduction before lunch, he was thrown into Kemushi's everyday workflow full force. He had worked himself to the bone by eight that night. The work had consisted of taking photographs on four models from three modeling agencies for a biweekly teen lifestyle magazine, choosing and refining the best results for submission to his supervisor, and lastly attending a meeting regarding contents of the article they were handling. He gave everything he got, even ransacked his brain to give the best ideas he could offer. Those efforts were not unheeded because he knew Itou and Miyuki were pleased with his performance at the end of his shift.

He was in for a good record, it seemed.

*

Days went by unnoticed at Kemushi, but Takaba's memories of the first day was still fresh, as was his kindred spirit and determination to work tirelessly. He was so close to the independence he direly sought for. Within a month, he'd received the first decent salary as an official part of Kemushi's production team. He wouldn't worry about buying dinner or having to trouble Kou or Takato any time soon. He'd found a decently prized apartment waiting for his arrival next week. Life had been going smoothly lately and Takaba was ecstatic he even felt like calling home.

Surfing the subways between stations had become a habit for Takaba. Ever since he worked for Kemushi, he'd been going through the same routes every single day, occasionally taking a detour to browse goods they sell in various stores. He'd skimmed almost every commodity that caught his attention, most of them were either menswear or food. At the end, though, when he possessed the ability to do something about it, he dropped by a particular camera store.

Tonight would be the tenth time he visited, too often coming and going empty handed that the clerk shot him a bored stare the moment he entered. Takaba smiled sheepishly and awkwardly waved his palm at him. He purposefully ignored the clerk's stare boring onto his back to come face to face with the object of many of his fantasies.

A macro camera lens.

The latest from Nikon, his preferred brand.

Oh, how long he had been saving just for this baby. Finally, today would be the day that his budget was fulfilled.

Proudly, he sauntered to the clerk who'd long ignored his presence like a bug. Said stocky man was leaning against the glass counter when Takaba waved to get his attention. The clerk lazily turned his head toward him, "Yea?"

With a smile as bright as that which he wore on the first day of work, Takaba pointed firmly to the lens. "I want-"

Less than a second, the clerk got right up and walked to him. Takaba brightened up as he saw a welcoming smile on the usually stoic clerk's face.

"I want that-"

Then the clerk walked past him.

Toward another customer.

Slightly humiliated, Takaba turned around. He was pissed royal, sparing a single glance against his competitor, and it almost made him double over. He was torn between wanting to chase the clerk for ignoring him right away and staring agape, for something much more interesting caught his attention.

The other customer had golden irises, in the most intense color he had ever come across, and those molten metal was staring right back at him.


	2. Chapter 2: Accidental Encounter

**First of all, I'd like to send my special thanks toward finderlov for taking the time reviewing my last chapter. I'm so glad that my story could entertain you guys if even just a tiny bit! I felt totally motivated by the feedback that I somehow ended up writing another chapter before this week ends. Thank you, too, for everyone who decided to give some kudos. I feel kind of undeserving, lol!**

**Anyway, here goes the continuation~**

**Just contact me if you want to discuss anything!**

**Enjoy :)**

*

A man with jet black hair.

And golden eyes.

He was gorgeous and appealing in more than one aspect. His limbs moved in a way resembling falcon on a hunt: sharp, precise, focused. Takaba was, for a moment, stunned by the electrifying presence. All thoughts going away from his mind but those of that man.

They shared an unspeakable moment. It was brief and unknown, but both felt something lighting ablaze as sparks inside.

"Wrap this up for me, I'll buy it." The man pointed at Takaba's lens.

The clerk acquiesced fast, while Takaba gulped at hearing his voice.

That voice, it rumbled deep from within the man's chest, reverberating across the room to Takaba's ears. He felt weak in the knees, because you don't find such baritone every day, and because…

…he became livid.

"Excuse me?!"

Marching to the clerk, he spoke right in his face, "I came here first! That lens is mine!"

As if simply getting a prickle on his side, the clerk just glared at him without responding. He was already opening a brown paper bag to wrap the lens for that later-coming man. Said newer customer walked next to Takaba, glancing at the young man head to toe. Takaba began to shake in fury for somehow nobody gave two cents about him as a customer here. That godforsaken clerk handed the paper bag to the man, with a hideous smile, in front of Takaba's fuming face.

"Thank you for your patronage, sir!"

Oh. He never knew this rude-ass clerk could sound so friendly. That fake, plastered smile vanished as soon as he faced Takaba once more, reluctantly. "Sir, I'm sorry but that lens is the last one in stock. We have no more."

What a way to ruin a wonderful payday. "Unbelievable." The young man exhaled, looking at the ceiling dramatically. "You know I can file a complaint for this."

The clerk was undeterred in his attempt to rile him. Takaba sensed an upcoming headache from all this bickering. He ended their exchange with two middle fingers up, then he quickly left after shooting the most heated glare he could muster toward the clerk and that man.

It's alright. There are dozens of other stores he could visit. It was just an unlucky occurrence at the end of a fortunate day. He'd live. He'd lost the bounce in his steps, the sunny smile, and the best mood from before, but yeah, it was nothing he couldn't live without. He'd better focus on buying Kou the best dinner from his favorite seafood stall. Surely his friend's smile would brighten him up a bit.

Takaba walked dejectedly through the subway tunnel. His mind gloomy with the earlier unpleasantries, too occupied in being sad that he almost didn't notice a man walking behind him, almost next to him. He whipped around, recognizing the same molten gold from before, again, staring right back at him. It was that man from the store, his expression unreadable.

Seeing the brown paper bag in his right hand, Takaba sighed, "What do you want?"

The man had stopped when Takaba noticed him following behind. He adjusted himself and offered a hand to Takaba, "Nice to meet you."

Unsure as to why the man suddenly approached him like this, Takaba stood silent, staring at the offered limb. He was reluctant to shake that perfect hand at first, then decided not to be rude and reciprocate before the exchange turned too awkward. He shook the hand. The man's grip was so firm he almost pulled back from surprise.

"Um. Yeah?"

Said man looked at the bag in his hand briefly, "Do you long to have this, Takaba Akihito?"

Takaba's forehead scrunched instantly. _How did he know my name?_ "I'm sorry, but what the fuck, man?" Swallowing at the dryness in his throat, he added cautiously, "How…did you know my name?"

No answer came, he just kept staring at Takaba intensely, probably reading something unseen by anyone but him. Those golden irises were causing another shiver in the young man's knees. They'll buckle under the pressure anytime soon.

Suddenly it became noticeable, there were too little crowd in the sub. He glanced around in hope of finding the nearest human being beside them. There was no one near. Takaba's hair stood on end at the chilling realization. He shook his head and took a step back, lest he'd lose control over his body's reaction.

"God damn it, you're a fucking creep."

Without breaking their gaze, Takaba took another step back. One swing of leg, then another, and another. That man stood as still as stone all the while. Only when he was rest assured the creep wouldn't run on his tail like he feared, the young man turned around and sprinted faster than the wind. Having his precious baby taken on his payday was one thing, add meeting a creep who oozed psychopathic vibes on the same day, and he'd rather wave a white flag. Too much negative happenings weren't good. It'd unglorify the satisfaction of a first paycheck.

Albeit assured that the man with golden irises never caught up to his ass, Takaba kept glancing back once in a while just to be sure. Simply remembering the intensity of that man's presence was unnerving. The feeling lied between intimidation and enthrallment. Despite the gorgeous face, and hands, and God…his voice, no doubt he'd run anytime they met, if, they ever met again. You really don't come across such person every day.

Well.

Takaba truly hoped they _wouldn't_.

Above-ground Tokyo was such a familiar and comforting sight after running like a wild goose under chase. He took a chance to look back again, scanning the area around him. Thank God, that intimidating presence was gone. He was alone and safe inside herds of people filling the boulevard. Trying to squeeze in the jam, the young man adjusted his pace. He kept his head low, but eyes acute.

He'd better move on to that seafood stall soon.

*

"Say what?"

That seafood stall was really the best bet to please his friend. He queued for forty minutes in line to order stir-fry and barbecued squid. When he entered their shared apartment, Kou's sharp nose had detected food before Takaba had the chance to open his shoes. His friend came running like a dog toward him, face brimming with joy, and saliva. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm was toned down some notch as he saw the somber expression on Takaba's face.

After several failing attempts to interrogate his friend, Kou dragged them to the living room. They ended up sitting at the low table, food laid, ready to eat. Several bites were taken in silence before Takaba started to speak of the happenings of the day. He began with how happy he'd been to receive a decent pay for the first time in his life, and how it was all ruined at the camera store.

And, of course, the man with irises resembling the blaze of molten gold, he didn't fail to mention.

"You heard me."

Kou's big eyes rounded up even more, "That was so creepy, man."

"Yeah…. I don't remember ever meeting anyone even resembling him. If we really had met somewhere, there's no way I would forget."

"So, he just stared all the way 'till you were gone?"

The young man nodded, "He did. I was so freaked out I just up and ran."

"Uh-huh. Sure you okay with taking the subway again?"

Munching with abandon, Takaba contemplated Kou's question. "It's the fastest route, man. I can't stop going there like a pussy just because some random dude."

"Yeah, but the dude knows your name."

_Fuck_.

"Aw, hell! I don't know, Kou. Can't you just pray for me or something?"

Kou made a face, "I'm an atheist."

Takaba swore he could throw the remaining squid at the smart-ass face. "You know what I meant!"

They laughed, lighthearted mood permeating. Both continued to talk about anything, from nonsense to their daily experiences. With every bite of the slightly charred squid, Takaba managed to lighten up his mood and melt his tension away.

Slightly.

For he felt an inexplicable dread in his guts that refused to be gone. Even after he drifted to sleep, through the night, until the sun arrived to greet him in the morning, it kept nagging at the back of his consciousness.

Kou had asked him at the front door today, whether he was sure he'd take the same subway route. Takaba's pride banned him from revealing any sign of discomfort and made him said that yes, he'd definitely go on that same subway, he'd even retrace his steps if he wanted to. His friend was more than skeptical of this. Takaba didn't care. He held his head high all the way to the entrance of yesterday's path.

But inevitably, the young man stopped walking. Here he was, facing the same set of stairs he'd run across on, freaked out from the odd encounter. The descent looked steeper than he remembered. He started to doubt the bravery bragged at their front door not fifteen minutes ago. Sheen of cold sweat began wetting his palms as a sign of nervousness leaking out.

_"…he just stared all the way 'till you were gone?"_

_"…but the dude knows your name."_

_Fuck_.

_Fuck it all._

Wiping both palms on the waist of his blue jeans, Takaba dared himself to move forward. He stayed as incognito as possible, wearing his hood up, hands inside pockets, walking so quick until his shins burned in the middle of the crowd. He opted not to walk near the walls, tried not to stand out so any lurking presence wouldn't pick him out of the herd. Once he successfully put a first step underground, Takaba was tempted to sprint through the halls. But he decided against it. He sauntered instead, and before long, he was exactly where yesterday's happening occurred.

The young man didn't stop walking, yet he couldn't help checking his surroundings. There were more people today, although not jam packed as other parts of the sub, he could release a breath of relief. He continued going, swiping his card and entering the train platform. Was he lucky or what, he didn't know, he hadn't see any sign of that odd man nor feel his presence all morning.

When the train came, Takaba concluded that he had been worrying himself silly. He boarded with easier steps for the burden he carried had been slightly lifted. Nothing peculiar happened on the rest of the way either. He actually managed to walk in peace to Kemushi.

*

Work was hectic as ever. Two models from an agency he refused to name were making a fuss because their dress looked hideous in their opinion. Those spoiled girls seemed to disrespect the value of professionalism. They asked Megumi for a different set of dress, which of course, was rejected by the stylist. She patiently explained that those dress were picked personally by the editor of the magazine they'd be featured in, that they had no choice but to roll with it.

Two more photography session awaited him today. Takaba and his team cut lunch break short to make sure their targets would be done before evening. A guest star for the same magazine those two spoiled models were featured in came at two in the afternoon. The team cheered gleefully in private. This young male model was so handsome, even Itou nodded his scarcely found approval. Not only that, the eye-pleasing trait also came with a set of awesomely cooperative and easygoing personality.

Then the third session came and went. It was photographing a newly designed product from certain fashion brand who released bamboo-themed watch for fall. The only human beings Takaba had to deal with at this session were members of his own team. They wrapped up that last session by praising each other's hard work before heading to the meeting room for evaluation.

Takaba was walking with the second junior employee and tech assistant, Araki, when Miyuki suddenly called his name.

"Aki-kun! Wait!" The woman caught up, mentioning something about a packet delivery for him.

"A delivery?"

"Yes. It's in the reception desk." She said to him, "Go on and check it before the eval starts."

Araki lifted a bushy eyebrow at him, but Takaba only shrugged. He headed back toward the desk behind Kemushi's entrance and immediately asked the receptionist.

"Oh, right. There was a delivery for you at noon, but you were so absorbed in work I didn't notify you right away. I'm sorry." The receptionist handed him a neatly wrapped black box.

"No, no, no! It's alright, Shishio-san."

The young man cradled the black box in his arms, searching for the sender's address. Strangely, he found no other information besides a 'Sion HQ' written in golden ink. Takaba tilted his head in confusion.

"Shishio-san, do you know who sent this?"

The receptionist mirrored the young man's confused expression. "It was delivered by a postman, but I didn't ask who the sender was."

"Ahh…I see. Thank you." He bowed his gratitude before proceeding to the meeting room.

In fear that he'd be late, Takaba didn't take the time to put the box aside. He kept it near him at meeting, more than once eyes strayed from the projection screen to that box. To be fair, he was thoroughly distracted that Itou shot him a warning glare somewhere between Megumi and Hattori's discussion regarding the next week's visual content. He immediately straightened up after that, putting the box away on the floor to avoid more unnecessary divide in attention.

Aside from Takaba's distraction, the eval went smoothly. They agreed on digital imaging and illustration content to put on next week schedule, which left Takaba, the photographer, with less workload in the upcoming week. The team made applause after Itou closed their final meeting with a little speech. He said he was thankful for the team and hoped that any mistakes they made today wouldn't be repeated within near future, and that they'd put more effort and focus in work, somewhat looking a blink too long at Takaba. He could only smile sheepishly.

*

"Hey, it's Friday night, why don't we all go for a drink?" Miyuki suddenly offered the idea when everyone began to tidy up.

"Sounds good. I say, shall we?" Itou nodded happily, followed by cheers from Megumi, Araki, and Hattori.

As the newest member of the team, Takaba had no choice but to accept the invitation. Within less than fifteen minutes, his usual route was altered. They dropped by a drinking parlor near Akihabara, slightly further from Takaba's usual entrance below ground. The team was relaxed after a busy week. They asked questions of their newly appointed photographer and wished him good luck from there on. Takaba answered every inquiry truthfully in exchange for deeper knowledge about the other members.

Turned out Itou was a married man with two children who currently awaited the arrival of a third one. Megumi was a divorcee who gave up on love and decided to focus on her work instead. Miyuki was a single mother of one daughter, Araki a bachelor with seemingly no luck in finding a mate, and Hattori had a girlfriend he was totally obsessed with.

The conversation didn't let up until near midnight. Mostly tipsy from alcohol, they assigned each other to walk home together, but since Takaba's apartment lied where nobody was heading, he had to assure them that he'd be okay with walking home alone. He bade goodbye to his team, laughing aloud at Araki who was by far the most drunk. He slurred back at Takaba while hanging off Hattori's shoulder.

The young photographer walked hurriedly to the subway station. He had to catch the last train if he didn't want to walk all the way home, which, remembering how the world was spinning around him, would be taking a longer time than it should probably be. Takaba swiped his card as he was entering the train platform, but the blinking LED didn't turn green. He did it once more, and again, it stayed red. Like an idiot, he kept repeating the action, turning the card this side and that, until an officer approached him.

"Sir, I'm sorry, the last train had departed two minutes ago."

Takaba gawked. "What?!"

The officer confirmed the exact departure time of the train, suggesting he take a walk or rent a capsule hotel instead. Disbelieving his unluckiness, Takaba accepted his fate begrudgingly, he walked away and took a seat on the nearest bench as his head was starting to pound.

He stared helplessly at the now empty halls, taking a moment to rest while contemplating what the heck he should do now that his fastest way home had just left him. He could go by foot, but at this state he didn't know how long he'd last before the nausea took over. Or he might rent a capsule at the nearest hotel, it should be cheap, although money still meant money. He was kind of reluctant to part with it. Maybe he could just sleep on this bench until the earliest train operated. It was comfortable enough here and he'd gone through much worse.

His petty decisions led the photographer to consciously doze off on the stainless-steel bench. He stretched his legs and made himself comfortable, relocating his camera bag and the black box that'd been momentarily forgotten in his arms.

But then he remembered.

A black box.

The unfamiliar printed letters of Sion HQ in golden ink.

Was it a delivery sent by his previous client?

Lifting the black box onto his lap, he caressed it with wavering hands, getting uneasy knowing how long he'd left it unopened. The wrapper consisted of sleek, black carton and brown recycled paper underneath. Revealed inside was a cardboard cube. He unlocked the top sealing and lifted it, setting aside several layers of bubble wrapper to reveal something as black as the wrapper itself.

Something cylindrical.

Takaba's eyes widened in shock. It was the same object of his many fantasies, the one he'd been saving up for for months, something contested in a camera shop between him and another customer. The man. With jet black hair. And irises resembling the blaze of molten gold. Whose intensity he could not forego nor forget.

That dread hiding behind his mind suddenly reappeared. It leaped to the photographer's forethought, followed by a quick realization of how stupid he'd been for choosing to sit like a duck in such an empty place, in the middle of the night, and truly alone. He never sobered so fast in his life. Takaba put the perfectly unscathed lens inside its packaging, before gathering his belongings and standing upright. He really shouldn't be so foolish, drunkenness aside.

As he slung his camera bag on one shoulder, black box on another arm, he doubled the distance of his steps, eyes focused forward. The halls had become even quieter than when he arrived. Every store there was had closed, doors steel-covered and chained. The only sounds came from his own hurried steps echoing between the cold walls. He took a turn on the next intersection, opting to head above ground despite not going in the right way.

But he was forced to slow to a stop.

He momentarily went as still as an inanimate object. Waiting for clarity to settle in his vision. There was someone there, right in front of the exit, standing, looking at him in the dim light behind bespectacled eyes. Takaba felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He expected the familiar presence to weigh down, yet it never came. That figure wore attire matching the box in his arm, black and darker than night. One thing lacking from him would be the glint of golden in his irises.

The young man stepped backward and turned around, only to find another presence. A much more hulking presence to boot, blocking the only other way.

He was, frankly speaking, fucked.

Between specs and the bulky man, who he noticed sported an unnaturally blonde hair, Takaba gathered what was left of his courage and stood as tall and gallant as a scrawny guy of his stature could.

"Can I help you?"

He directed that question at the blonde, but the answer came not from him. "Come with us."

"I refuse."

Speccy moved closer to him, "I don't recall myself making a request, Takaba Akihito."

"Well I also don't recall ever meeting you, bastard." Takaba glanced between the two, "Am I a lost son to a don or something? Why the fuck every creep in town knows my name?"

Now blondie began moving too. Takaba felt his hackles rising. He ducked below thick arms when the man almost grabbed him by the collar. The action spurred a flash of chain reaction, he was down the halls in a beat.

Manouvering from one direction to the other, Takaba's habit of jittering around in crowds bore him advantage of agility which his chasers lacked. Before he knew it, he'd jumped two stairs at a time toward the boulevard above. A brief look behind him revealed ample distance between them to escape into safety once he was on level ground.

He almost leaped at the end of the ascent. Taking a quick look at his surrounding, the photographer decided to hide in the nearest alley. His head was pounding even louder now for it hadn't fully recovered from the effect of his earlier booze. He was about to sprint across the block at that exact moment, if not for the hand suddenly appearing out of nowhere and managing to do what the hulking blonde failed to do before.

He was roughly shoved by the collar to a near wall. The impact held no mercy against his already spinning head. He could feel nausea creeping from the pit of his stomach. Dropping both camera bag and the black box, he grasped that offending limb tight, hoping that whoever it was would lighten the crushing hold on him.

"Did you enjoy your present, Takaba Akihito?"

The young man stopped struggling against his captor.

He knew that voice.

The familiar sense of dread came back in waves. The intensity of a peculiar set of eyes bore on him, an aura he'd never, ever forget.

That golden eyes had come back to haunt him, and up close, he found out the blaze in them burned even hotter.


	3. Chapter 3: The Freaky Extraordinaire

**Hola, everyone!**

**As usual, I send my best regards and gratitude toward those who took the time to read, give kudos, and comment! Special mention goes to bloodelfprince1 and Eiowynn for reviewing the previous chapter!**

**Now, before you start reading, I suggest you to listen to Cena d'amore from Kuroshitsuji II, because I used that song to create a certain feel for the chapter. I even actually cited some of the lyrics which translation I'll include at the end notes. Some of you might have noticed the creepiness I put in Asami's character, and well, if you like it then be glad! Cause it'll get even creepier now.**

**Anyway, from now on I'll try to reply to every comment you post on my story, so if you want to go straight ahead and read, just skip this part and enjoy :)))**

**bloodelfprince1: Thank you! I hope you'll enjoy how the plot progresses this time!**

**Eiowynn: I'm really glad you feel that way! Thanks a lot!**

*

Tokyo was a city that never slept, nevertheless, night always hid many things. Within dim crevices of the metropolis, darker, stranger things tended to lurk around, lying in wait to act out their malignant intents. Unsuspecting victims would collapse like sandcastle swept by the ocean's surge, drowning not so subtly, yet nobody would notice a thing when the captors were this elusive.

Tonight, the city's darkness became their sole witness. It didn't matter how desperately a young man's prayer was sent to the gods, no one came to save him from this predicament. From the blistering gaze of his captor's eyes, from the steely grip of his hand, and from an internal sense of impeding doom. The young man struggled again, aloud, but still nobody came.

Another hand covered his mouth and the larger body of his captor rammed him to the wall, trapping the photographer's body between two solid barriers he couldn't escape from. Takaba whimpered in pain as the back of his head hit concrete. In his haze of drunkenness and hurt, he closed his eyes, hoping to minimize any effect of the impact. But he opened them a tad too soon, and the world spun faster than ever before.

The last thing Takaba remembered was biting his captor's hand and falling to the ground as he was released, then seeing a pair of black designer shoes, he rasped, "That looks expensive."

He emptied his stomach all over the leather.

*

Disgusting.

Truly disgusting.

Acrid smell of hydrochloric acid and alcohol.

Deadweight of a young man on the stone pavement.

Face of an angel.

But Asami Ryuichi found endearment somewhere deep beyond the revolting image of the man making disgrace out of himself. He was, least to say, intrigued by his fierceness, by how hard he'd been spitting fire. And talk about divine being, this Takaba Akihito's face resembled much of Boticelli's version of one. Just, debauched slightly.

He lowered onto dry stones, grasping a handful of brunette hair and turning that sinful visage under his golden gaze. Oh. The purity of youth. How he had long lost it. That pale skin shining under flickering lights, it was tempting him to mar him red.

Yet very unfortunate for him, no harm should befall the young man now. He must reign in any devilish impulses. The photographer served no purpose if damaged before accomplishing his duty as a pawn. He had to keep him sound prior. So he lifted the figure, cradling him close to his heart.

"You got him," Kirishima finally caught up to the scene, not quite out of breath, only slightly exasperated. He pushed his spectacles in discomfort. The man noticed a pungent smell of vomit while looking at the unconscious young man in his superior's arm, bowing low that instant, followed by Suoh. "Forgive me for the mess, Asami-sama."

Asami didn't bother to grant his men with a response. His attention never left his debauched angel.

"_What a feisty little one_."

*

_Bacio la mia albicocca dolcissima_

_Sei i miei mille girasoli_

_Sei la mia serenata_

_Mio amor_

A silky voice was vibrating in the air. The dreamy melody lulled Takaba, adrift within the border of wakefulness and sleep.

_Tesoro mio_

_dei miei pensieri_

_Sei nell'aria_

The song began hitching up in crescendo, that same, silky voice rang loud in his ears.

_Voliamo verso la luce, come gli angeli_

_Più sun oi respiriamo il vento_

_Ridi, apri i tuoi occhi_

And he opened his eyes. Abruptly.

To his left, the man with golden eyes sat five feet away. His face was obscured by a billowing cloud of smoke leaving perfectly shaped lips. He was watching him.

Another exhale of white smoke and the glint of molten gold behind it.

Another crescendo, another adagio.

And the music stopped completely, leaving an unfathomable silence behind.

For a moment, Takaba thought he was dreaming. He'd never been so close to such devilishly handsome man before. Did this person even really exist? Or was it the alcohol running within his system creating delusions?

"Welcome back, Takaba Akihito."

_Apparently not_.

Realizing how real everything had been. Takaba jerked up from his laid down position, forgetting completely to moderate his movements. As a result, his head pounded like Mjolnir was hammering inside, demanding to be let out.

"Shit…," Takaba cradled his head in his hands, lowering it back onto the bed and waited until enough blood had flown to his brain.

The young photographer heard something being thrown onto the mattress next to him. It was a full pack of aspirin. He frowned at how odd and uncharacteristic the gesture felt, lifting his head slowly to inspect the only other occupant of the room. He was still smoking his lungs out, legs crossed, lounging lazily on a wooden armchair.

They stared at each other another good minute. In the end, Takaba relented to ease the tension, asking cautiously, "Who are you?"

The man smirked with a stick of cigarette jutting out of his lips. "You know me."

Takaba shook his head. "I've never met you before."

"I never said we have. But you know me."

His face must have looked so perplexed by that answer, the man gave him a clue before Takaba had to ask more questions. "You know thing or two about Fujimoto Eiji."

_The current Oyabun of Sumiyoshi-kai_. "I…yes." Takaba admitted lowly.

The man stubbed his cigarette on an ashtray at the bedside table. "Then I take it you also know about his apprentice."

Everything clicked at that moment. He dropped his jaw, whispering, "Asami Ryuichi." Takaba swore he could see those molten gold glimmering brighter for a second. "You're supposed to be…."

"Dead?" Asami snorted, folding his hands atop one knee. "So presumptuous."

Takaba tried to digest the information despite a pounding head and hazy vision. He straightened himself, registering the consequence of his movement too late. A soft slide of fabric caressed his side, revealing pale, naked skin underneath.

A shiver ran down his spine, and seeing how a certain pair of golden eyes travelled along the trace of skin, Takaba was sure it had nothing to do with the room's cool air. He quickly pulled the cover back up, blushing from his own nudity.

"Your clothes and mine are being laundered as we speak."

Clearing his throat, Takaba wrapped himself tighter while diverting the topic to more pressing matters. "What does Fujimoto's former apprentice have to do with someone like me?"

"So you can actually form one full, grammatically correct sentence."

Glaring at the man, he spat, "Fuck you."

"It is unfortunate that we can't do exactly that. Maybe a month from now, when we're much more familiar to each other's presence?"

"What in the world-?" his cheeks turned twenty shades of red. "Will you cut the crap?! Just get down to business and tell me what kind of shit you want from me!"

The man chuckled darkly, "Aside from defilement?"

Takaba swore in the name of the gods he would throw those aspirins to the man's face if he didn't have to release the only coverage his body had right now.

"I want you to do your job," the man finally went back serious. He uncrossed his long legs and leaned closer toward the photographer. "Not whatever pathetic work you're pretending to enjoy now, Takaba. I'm talking about your real job."

Oh.

They stared at each other again for long seconds. A mutual understanding arose between the two. Takaba knew. He understood exactly what the man wanted of him. Something he thought he'd left behind, a habit he convinced himself loathe to do, a thrill of chase that Takaba was addicted to. Like a drug. Dangerous but tempting.

"The news might not have reached you in the grave, but I quit."

Lean fingers danced in the air as the man waved his hand. "Look at you," his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't lie to yourself." Suddenly rising from the chair, he moved closer until their face was a breadth away. Takaba felt himself retreating, but a hand grasped his neck, preventing him to move to safety. "I _know_ you, young man. Every. Inch. Of. You." The words were spat bitterly like venom, he flinched at its burn.

"You are such a freak…," the photographer whispered.

Then those sinful lips latched itself onto his neck, biting hard. He reacted reflexively to the pain, letting go of the covers and putting his hands on the man's broad shoulder, pushing him away with weak arms. When the bite turned even more ferocious, Takaba admitted ashamedly, he moaned. A drop of something wet and warm trickled down his neck. He was bleeding.

Asami gave him a long, sensuous lick, following the single trail of red down to his chest. "You have seen nothing," those lips whispered against the clamorous beat of his heart. The way that man put it, Takaba could only imagine the multiple meanings it insinuated. Abduction. Desecration. Or bloody murder.

He shivered again, hands tightening on Asami's shirt. "What will I get from this?"

Asami's lips twitched into a smirk. "Anything, Takaba. Anything."

"Just-" Takaba swallowed through the lump in his throat. "Let's talk normally, alright? I'm all ears."

Then the warmth on his chest was gone completely. He hastily covered himself.

As if predicting the coming of this moment, Asami fished out a thick document from the bedside drawer. He laid out the contents on the bed for the young man's eyes to see. There were five groups of file, each compiled into a thorough information regarding its subject. Kodama Tatsuo, Gentaro Kenichi, Watanabe Kiyoshi, Shinoda Noboru, and Fujimoto Eiji himself. They were five pillars of Sumiyoshi-kai, Takaba noticed right off the bat.

"You're an apt journalist. You know the drill. Make something the court can convict them with." Asami explained short. He searched the hazel of Takaba's eyes, finding nothing but burning anticipation in them. "I'll give you my full protection during your stake-outs."

"I don't fucking need no protecting."

The golden eyes glinted for a millisecond. "We'll see about that."

Everything else went by in a flash after that. The bespectacled man whom he met at the subway delivered his freshly washed clothes. He set a record-breaking time for getting dressed, feeling all hot and bothered under the gaze of those creepy eyes whose owner refused to give him his privacy.

"I don't want you sneaking out the window, now, do I." He said playfully while tilting his head to the location of a window on the near wall.

Takaba only grumbled and get on with his shit.

Speccy led him out after that. Turned out he was in a small house somewhere in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It was early morning then. The sun hadn't rose yet, but small number of people had rose to roam about the city. The photographer was thrown inside a black sedan where a man he'd never seen before sat at the wheel. Speccy gave him orders to drop the young man off at a subway entrance nearest his home address before turning to him.

"Your belongings will be sent back to your home with a brief folder included. We'll inform you the details of your first objective soon. Don't try anything funny beforehand. We're watching you." Then he slammed the door close.

Takaba jerked in his seat.

"What the hell, man. Rude."

*

Those creepy people who belonged in the Sumiyoshi-kai – or used to – were fucking idiots, Takaba mused. They were kind of generous enough to drop him off at the entrance of a subway station, but they didn't give his belongings back. No money and no pass card meant no entrance. Motherfuckers.

The photographer ended up walking all the way home. He really should had taken that aspirin when he could. The hangover still had its effects on him, amplifying the pain in his head and neck.

He blushed.

He'd have a hard time explaining everything to his friend, especially that deep scar on his neck. Kou would totally freak out if he told him the truth. He'd call the police and further compounding the complexity of the situation. Takaba must conjure up a fake story, and the most logical one would be that he had drinks the previous day, got wasted and got laid with someone he didn't even know so he ran away and left all his belongings in haste. Maybe Kou would believe that. He really hoped Kou would believe that, and not get suspicious or poke around and ended up with the conclusion he feared.

The sun had partially rose when he reached the front door of his house. Frustration kicked in as he remembered the keys inside his camera bag, which was confiscated up to this moment. He'd have to rely on Kou to let him in.

Banging on the door, he waited patiently. Not a full minute passed before he heard the familiar voice of his friend, irritated and probably half-awake. The moment Kou opened the door, Takaba barged in with a simple greeting, ignoring his friend's questioning stare and head straight to his bed. He dropped himself face first.

"Aki-chan, where have you been?"

"No, Kou. Not now, please," he said with muffled voice.

Kou scratched his head, wondering why the photographer didn't have the camera bag with him. "Did you get mugged?"

"No."

"Did you sell your camera?"

"No."

Silence. Then, "Did you meet your mom?"

Takaba lifted his head, "Nooooo! What does it have to do with my mom?"

His friend shrugged. "Dunno, man. She might confiscate it or something."

The photographer dropped back his head. "I'm already twenty, Kou. My mom doesn't do that anymore."

"Can't rule out any possibility, ya know."

"I don't want to talk about it now. Please."

Seeing no end to the conversation. Kou finally left him to sleep some more, leaving Takaba to dwell in his gloomy state alone. The rest of the morning became so quiet after that, but despite several attempts, the young man couldn't get the rest he so dearly desired.

*

**Lyrics translation:**

**I kiss my sweetest apricot**

**You are my one thousand sunflowers**

**You are my serenade**

**My love**

**My treasure**

**from my thoughts**

**You are in the air**

**We fly into the light, like angels**

**Higher up, we breathe the wind**

**You laugh, you open your eyes**


	4. Chapter 4: Pertinent Penitence

**Hello! I'm sorry for not having been able to update every day like I initially wanted.****I'll announce that within a week from now on, I'm going on a vacation with my family to Japan (Yay!) and therefore it will be most unlikely for me to post anything new until the seventh of August.**

**Again, I'll be using a song to create the atmosphere within this chapter, here's the link in case you're interested to hear it: https/youtu.be/saTMW1gp2qU**

**Aaaand, I'm really, really sorry, because I'm currently waiting to board an airplane as I write this note, I can't reply to your reviews for now, but I promise I'll do it individually in the comment section once I've arrived in Tokyo.****Enjoy! :)))**

*

_Rain had barely let up that morning. After days of clouds and grey, a young boy screeched in glee for the first time ever since he arrived at the countryside. The sun was no longer shy as it confidently showered rays of light onto the land of his hometown. Grandpa would take him to the field today!_

_"Jii-chan! Jii-chan! I saw something!"_

_The small felicity managed to peek through tall grass. An old man approached him. "Where, Aki-kun?"_

_"There! Look!"__Old, withered eyes scanned for a moment. They stopped between two branches of a lilac tree an arms-length away. Up there surrounded by blossoming white flowers, perched daintily, was a butterfly._

_"What's it doing there, Jii-chan?"_

_There was a pregnant pause before the old man knew how to explain the sight before them.__"It's caught," he answered._

_Blinking, the boy wasn't satisfied yet, "Caught by who?"_

_Paper-thin wings flapped uselessly. The poor creature struggled to set itself free, from the tangling confines of a web, and from its fate, which clearly had been decided by the gods._

_Takaba Touma held his grandson's hand, he said gently to him: "Ashidaka."_

_Round, hazel eyes stared back in confusion. An expression too complex for a mere child was forming on the old man's face. The little boy tilted his head, unable to decipher the sudden silence. He saw his grandfather's gaze directed back to the tree, therefore he, too, looked at the poor butterfly, still caught in woven strings of white._

_It was the first time in his young life did little Takaba know, how life was a cruel, merciless thing. He barely noticed a huge presence at the corner of his eyes, creeping, stalking, getting closer to the center of his vision where the helpless insect was.__Within less than a second, the so-called ashidaka wrapped the butterfly in its legs, crushing thin wings, rolling its prey further into an inescapable embrace._

_Takaba__ was aghast._

_The young child cried in horror, but strangely, Jii-chan neither said nor did a thing. It was as if such savagery did nothing to faze him. So he looked to the left. He found another butterfly suckling from a lilac's crown, but it was also numb to the horror unfolding. Then he looked to the right. A bird, perched on its nest, watching with unfeeling eyes._

_He began to wonder why?_

_Was he the only one who cared?_

_On the eve of that same day. Little Takaba had found a plausible answer to his questions. He finally put together a piece of understanding that would alter his life forever._

_He understood a bitter and cold truth he wasn't quite ready to be exposed against._

*

There was loud banging on the door, disturbing a peaceful morning in one small 2DK. Its occupants jolted roughly awake from their dreams.

As the less grumpy of the two if roused, Takaba volunteered to greet their early guest. He threw his blanket aside, shouting to Kou in the next room, "I'll get it!"

Fluttering his heavy eyelids, the photographer stumbled through the living room. Dragging thin legs down the entrance and to the genkan. He peeked via an installed viewing channel on the door.

Strangely, there was no one outside.

He paused in thought. Whoever the guest was could come back soon and he didn't want to risk meeting another crotchet, at his front door nonetheless. Yesterday's ordeal was enough to last a lifetime.

Kou's wall clock showed seven minutes to eight. Its fingers moved one-sixth of a full circle each second, creating a distinct sound which tempo was matched by Takaba's heartbeat. For full seven minutes he kept still, one hand aligned with the door's handle as he waited expectantly for another bang that never came. When he was mostly convinced nothing weird would befall him if he turned the lock, Takaba peered through the gap he'd opened a crack.

No living being was apparent aside from chirping birds on the neighborhood's tree. He dared to widen the opening and stepped outside, searching down the balcony. The young man had expected some shady man or a suspicious black sedan waiting downstairs. Then again, oddly, also none of such. There was just a huge black box adjacent to the entrance, wrapped the same way as its predecessor had been.

Despite at a loss for what should be done with it, Takaba didn't hesitate to carry the mysterious package inside. He was against pushing his luck by standing outside when he could unwrap it within the safety of his room.

The photographer nearly slammed the door when he got back in and found lounging on the couch, his friend, head dangling from the armrest. He must had tried to wake up and see what the earlier commotion was but failing helplessly against the temptation of a plush seat. Takaba sneaked around him in careful steps, entering his bedroom with tipped toes.

_"Your belongings will be sent back to your home with a brief folder included. We'll inform you the details of your first objective soon. Don't try anything funny beforehand. We're watching you."_

Those words rang clear in memory, all the more by how rude the bespectacled man had slammed the car door in his face afterward. Takaba groaned, knowing even before unwrapping the black sheet what would greet him in that box. There could only be one thing he was grateful about: the return of his belongings.

A sight of his beloved camera bag perked him up, he pulled it out, dragging the other contents with it. A black folder and his wallet fell to the ground. He clawed inside the box to check for any other object, but he'd taken them all, so he put it aside, going for his wallet first. Nothing amiss from it, all cards still neatly tucked and his money were surprisingly still existent.

Next one, Takaba started opening his camera bag. He found that everything was also still inside, right where he left them. The charger, the spare battery, the camera itself, his phone and keys, even the gifted lens was there, seemingly untouched. This current condition of his belongings were, least to say, unprecedented. He couldn't decide whether to be thankful or remain cautious. He'd guessed at some point one or more of the object would be damaged upon return, for it took more than a day before they were given back.

He couldn't help feeling an arising suspicion, but of what exactly, he didn't know.

The young photographer put aside his possession at their place. He took the black folder and made himself comfortable on the mattress. There was no explanation whatsoever regarding its content at the front page, so he kept opening each page, eyes scanning rapidly, until a particular sheet caught the young man's attention.

There was a long list consisting of names, something amounting in Yen, and several columns of numbers and percentages. He noticed at first glance, he was staring at a list of stockholders within a pharmaceutical corporation. Watanabe Kiyoshi – presumably the first target of his mission – was listed amongst the company's board of directors, holding a major share up to 60% in total. There were also familiar names of Japanese politicians listed alongside him.

He'd guessed, there must be something fishy in the corp. Probably harmful substance creation of some sort. And yes, he was mostly right. Data on the next pages revealed police reports citing a suspicion of dangerous chemicals illegal production within their factory. The next one was mistreatment of workers, careless disposal of harmful waste, and involvement in Adderall, codeine, and other stimulants illicit distribution. Such a problematic company it seemed. A shame, none of the case had been solved due to lack of evidence or eyewitness' "sudden refusal" to testify in court.

"Sons of bitches…," Takaba growled indignantly. He could definitely guess why.

"Akihito?"

The young photographer closed the folder faster than a fleeing hare. He threw it under his futon and straightened himself. "Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

Takaba darted his eyes around the room, making sure nothing was out of place. "Sure, go ahead."

Kou entered his room, eyes still wet with sleep. "Did you get the door?"

"Uh-huh."

"Who was it? They banged so loud I could hear them through my headphones, man."

"Um…," Takaba scratched the back of his head. "No one?"

Kou stepped closer and threw himself onto the mattress. Takaba freaked out inwardly. He was inches away from laying on top of the folder underneath. He hoped Kou was still too sleepy to notice the unnatural bulge on the bed, right beside his arm.

"Whaddya mean no one? Ya tryna hide sumthin', huh, Aki-chan?" Kou asked with closed eyes. He lazily stretched his body, arms spreading far too close.

Takaba did freak out this time. He grabbed Kou's upper arm a little too tightly. "Umm. No? It was just a delivery guy."

His friend was suddenly sober, arm stiff in Takaba's grasp. He looked at him, face wrinkled in a frown. "You're such a bad liar."

"I didn't lie!" Well. Considering the items he got, he really was telling the truth. He just chose not to expose everything.

Somehow being uncharacteristically sharp first thing in the morning, Kou investigated further, even began to ask why he had a bandage on the side of his neck. He moved to sit next to him right above the bulge, Takaba panicked and reflexively shoved him off the bed. He was grateful for the immediate distance it created.

"Fuck's sake, you're being nosy, Kou."

Oops.

That came out wrong. He truly didn't mean for it to come out that way. He sounded like a total jerk. But too late, his friend had already taken the offense. The other frowned deeper than ever, suddenly jerking his arm from Takaba's hand. Kou stood and looked down at him, "Yeah, right."

And the next thing Takaba knew, Kou was out, slamming the door shut.

_Shit!_

Clenching his jaw to prevent himself from screaming, Takaba kicked his futon furiously. He took out the godforsaken folder and threw it across the room. His friend had every right to ask. This was his apartment anyway, he was practically Takaba's landlord.

He swore he never meant to be a complete and utter asshole to Kou – the only person who'd accepted him unconditionally, repeatedly tend to him after his more severe fights in the past, and took him in when his own parents kicked him out. Sometimes he was just so mad at life and had to vent it out, albeit often to the wrong person.

Takaba walked in circles. He thought of a thousand ways to apologize and make it up to him. Maybe he could buy another dinner, or get him a new shirt? Or he could buy him tickets to watch his favorite band with his girlfriend?

None sounded to be good enough.

He dropped back onto the futon and put his head in his hands, frustrated. He hadn't even began to run this fucking mission and already, it caused a rift in his life.

If that bastard didn't reward him handsomely after everything, he promised he'd be sure to expose his criminal ass to the world of the living. He'd gorge his atrocity to the core and tear out his black heart. Damn motherfucker deserved the worst.

The photographer got interrupted while savoring his anger. His phone rang a tone signifying unknown caller. He muttered another curse, taking the phone and flipped it open.

There was no dial number on display.

He hesitated for a second but daring to receive the call in the end.

"Takaba Akihito."

The young man bristled, "Bastard," the distinct baritone could only belong to one man. "Do you know how much shit you put me through? When this is all over I'll fucking drag you down if you don't pay me enough, just you watch."

The bastard chuckled on the other end. "Feisty as ever."

"I'm being serious here, you fuck!"

"Oh, I never doubt it," amusement was practically dripping off his voice. If they were face to face, Takaba would had nicked his balls. "Have you read the files, Takaba?"

Taking a deep breath, the young man replied as he struggled not to explode, "Yes."

"Good. Is there anything you require?"

"I don't know yet and won't until at least tomorrow. It's Sunday. I wanna chill."

"That's highly inefficient."

"You ain't my boss. You don't get to tell me what to do."

There was a momentary silence on the line. Then Asami drawled out with a completely different tone. "I think you have forgotten something, Takaba. Something very, very important."

The photographer continued listening.

"I'm a patient man. I wait for the right moment to act accordingly. But some things don't deserve such virtue."

"What the hell are you saying?" Takaba asked with trepidation.

"Every second you spend dillydallying, someone else bites the dust."

Now it was Takaba's turn to go silent. The wound on his neck throbbed on hearing the man's next words.

"There will be blood on your hands and you know there already is. It's entirely dependent on your choice, how much of it will be shed, how much of it will be spared."

Then the line went off, leaving the static tune of a disconnected call.

Takaba gaped in disbelief.

That man. No. That _devil!_

Suddenly feeling weak in the knees, he lowered himself to the floor. He looked at his hands. How had he known so much?

His whole body couldn't help but tremble in fright. Mind wandering behind into his past, delving inside memories sealed beneath a field of ripening stalks. He wanted desperately to succumb to it, hopelessly seeking penitence by torturing himself with a hidden torment.

A mistake he tirelessly tried to abandon to no avail.

He had to repent now.

The photographer got up on his feet. He cleaned himself rapidly in the shared bathroom, washing his skin until it burned from the friction. Not a second was wasted as he got dressed, tucking his wallet and phone inside his bag. He picked the black folder and cradled it in his arm before going outside the room.

His steps were halted right before he took off by another presence sitting on the sofa, eyes directed at him.

He couldn't bare another ounce of guilt now.

The young man swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."

His friend found something in his eyes. Kou slowly sat up, "Akihito?"

Takaba walked past him.

"Where are you going?" Kou asked urgently, following behind.

As the young man was preparing to cross their front door, he looked back once and said: "To the church."

*

Morning mass had just began when Takaba stepped inside. The devout congregation of the church stood piously side by side, bible in hand, eyes and mind directed solely to a leading figure at the altar. The priest held one palm high above their heads, mouth spouting blessings upon blessings unto the entirety of the assemblage.

His prayers were followed. The mass bowed their heads when he spoke in Latin, praising the Lord for His unbounded mercy – within the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. In the midst of all this, hazel eyes watched vigil, knowing any moment now, those sunken, beady eyes of the priest would fall upon him.

Ultimately they did.

And the choir sang.

_Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi;__qui pius es, factus, pro do,__aud sis a ned, ut actus,__miserere nobis._

The two locked eyes through the first stanza. An understanding clicked without needing one word spoken, both young man and the priest patiently waited. Another prayer and sermon delivered. Time seemed to go by until the mass stood to leave, wishing a blessed Sunday to those sitting around them.

Amongst the scattering, Takaba caught a glimpse of the priest nodding at him. The young man got up from his seat and followed him deeper inside, turning on a corner, and found nothing but a lone confessional booth near the wall. He sauntered across toward it, opened the door, and entered.

A wooden partition at the center showed only dark shadows, but Takaba was aware of the presence mingling on the other side. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," he began slowly, "My last confession was-"

"Six months ago."

The young man raised his eyes, meeting that beady ones through holes on the partition. They glinted once, as if patronizing the young man for his mistake.

"What have you done this time, son?"

Not yet, Father. "Nothing. Nothing has been done."

"Then why have you come?"

"I-" He stuttered. His nerves were unsettled. "I need your help."

A small scuffle was heard and those beady eyes disappeared into the dark. "Are you back on the market?"

"Not really. It's more of an exclusive work."

Just like that, the orbs flashed.

"How interesting. I wonder who it was that lured you back." He hissed in excitement, "Not even I succeeded in doing so."

"I need information."

"Surely you haven't forgotten the cost."

Sighing, the young man muttered lowly, "Yes, Father. I didn't come here with empty hands."

"Then I'm listening."

Takaba opened the folder he brought with him, slipping it under the divider for the priest's eyes to feast upon. There was the sound of pages being flipped as soon as the dark engulfed it.

"I need to compile some evidence. Something strong enough to prove them guilty."

A quiet moment signified gears moving inside the priest's head. "What do you have in mind?"

The photographer shrugged, "I want to infiltrate the facility and collect solid evidence. I can't do that alone."

The priest closed the folder and gave it back to him. "A name for a name. Tell me something I don't know, son, and I'll give you what you need."

Frowning, the young man tried to peek through the holes. "I just gave you dozens of name, Father. Did you miss it?" He opened the page enlisting identities of stockholders, but before he could completely slip it through the gap again, the priest pushed it back to him.

"There is nothing I haven't known in that scrap."

Takaba shook his head. "That's impossible. You need to read it again."

Testing the priest's patience didn't come as an actual act of deviance. He was desperate enough as it was. He had nothing else to offer the old man and without it, this mission would end up harder to accomplish.

Suddenly, his earlier conversation with Asami came back to haunt him as the priest shot him a glare and began to exit the booth.

_"There will be blood on your hands and you know there already is. It's entirely dependent on your choice, how much of it will be shed, how much of it will be spared."_

"Asami Ryuichi!"

And the priest immediately stopped leaving.

That slip of a name seemed to attract his attention. Takaba could see some of the man's face now, revealed by a sliver of light penetrating from the gap at the door.

"You're mentioning a dead man's name."

"No," he got closer to the partition between them. "He's back from the grave, Father. I don't know how, but he's actually alive."

"How am I to be sure you're not spouting nonsense out of desperation?"

Pushed to the end of his wits, he slammed his hands on the divider. That priest didn't even flinch.

"I swear," he whispered, menace dripping from his voice and body trembling from barely contained emotions, "I swear on _his_ blood, Father, I am telling the truth."

For the photographer to mention _him_. Something extraordinary must had happened – something of a preternatural nature that drove him out of the light, back into this caliginous place. The priest saw Takaba for what he was for a second: a young man, no, a boy in his eyes, desperately seeking his help. The fire in him still burned as ferocious as ever. Even after making himself scarce for almost two years, after the hell he'd been running from, Takaba was still the same.

"Bless you, son. Your past sin has long been forgiven and it is simply you who have not let go." He closed the door to the booth and scooted closer to him. "For you to mention that man, I have no choice but to put trust in your words."

Takaba fell back onto his seat. He exhaled a long breath of relief. A wound that had barely closed was opened that morning when Asami called, his choice to tear it further wasn't painless, but this priest's trust made the agony worthwhile.

"Tell me about him."

The mentioning of that bastard's name hadn't really occured to him when he arrived here, thus he thanked whatever deity there was for reminding him in time.

"Just as I said, he's alive and crawling about town. I've met him in the flesh. He was as you once described to me."

Jet black hair. Irises with the blaze of molten gold. Gaze as sharp as a falcon's.

"Strange things do happen, I suppose. Last I heard of him, Fujimoto had disposed of the man, burying him six feet under." He sounded as perprlexed as Takaba had felt. "Is he the one who hired you for exclusive?"

"Yes, Father."

"Interesting. Do be careful, though," the priest warned. "You wouldn't want to be eaten alive."

Takaba snorted. He didn't need any reminder. The young man had known what kind of mess he was dragged into from the first place. "I've made my payment. Now, give me what I need."

A hoarse chuckle resonated behind the partition. "Oh, son. You really don't change."

"A name for a name. But remember, you shall not write it down nor speak it aloud carelessly."

"It'll never cross my mind."

Smile bloomed on the priest's lips.

He then proceeded to complete his end of the bargain.

*

The aftertaste of cigarette was bitter on his tongue, the scent of tobacco and cloves so strong it dominated his senses. Another drag of burnt spices filled the channel of his throat, down to the man's lungs. He immediately felt a distinct sting of nicotine coursing within his blood vessels. He needed all the boost that chemical might offer. The day was still long ahead of him.

In the background were faint sounds of people talking, occasional page-turning, pen scratching on paper. The man muted it all, choosing to listen to the melodies of a sonata. His fingers itched to follow each individual tune, but his hand was currently occupied with pages of unread report. His little empire needed tending to, and Asami couldn't leave to do what he wanted just yet.

Three knocks on the door diverted his attention. He permitted his right-hand man to enter.

"Asami-sama, I have news for you." Kirishima bowed once.

The man looked from behind a thick stack of paper in his hand.

"Takaba Akihito has finally left the church."

In an instant, a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. He waved his hand as a dismissal, taking out his phone while Kirishima made an exit. He dialled the photographer, and after three rings, the first thing he heard was: "What now, bastard?"

Spiritful as ever, that little photographer.

"I assume you've found what you need now?"

There was a silence on the young man's part. Then he heard a scuffle. Takaba was heading somewhere more quiet with less people mingling about him.

"If you want this to work, you follow what I say, alright?"

Asami cocked an eyebrow.

"We need to form a team ready for infiltration. I can get in there myself but after collecting whatever hideous evidence I might get, making a way out ain't gonna be easy."

"Who do you need to be in that team?"

Another scuffle, then he spoke. "I need people who can break through the company's security system, someone who can penetrate firewalls and hack into their surveillance devices."

"I'll see to it."

"And one more thing."

The photographer suddenly spoke just in time before he hung up on him.

"Find me Aihara Hiroto."


	5. Chapter 5: Devil's Incarnate

**Whowieeee. It feels like ages ago since I've posted the last chapter, but I'm here with the latest oneeee.**

**As usual, first I'd like to thank those who took their time reading, commenting, or giving kudos on this story! Special thanks given to ****NarupokeeAurorafan and ****NikkiS71**** for leaving some lovely comments on the last few chapters!**

**Anyway, I had a great time with my family in Tokyo and Yokohama. Anyone here is Japanese? If there is, I'll tell you this: YOUR COUNTRY IS AWESOME, THE PEOPLE ARE AWESOME, THE PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION IS AWESOME, EVERYTHING IS AWESOME! It was an experience of a lifetime! If I ever got the chance again, I'd love to revisit Japan. God, I even want to live there if I can. Kudos to all the Japanese out there! I love you like I love my readers, LOL~**

**From here I'll write the replies, so if you wanna read chapter 5 right away, skip this part and go on the ride! Thanks everyone!**

**NarupokeeAurorafan: Thank you sooo much! I can't be happier knowing you like the Asami I portray here! Hope this week-long absence doesn't make you lose your patience!**

**NikkiS71: OMG! You've been commenting since chapter 1! Lolll,thank you so much~ You've made some very good guess! Here comes the fifth chapter, hope you'll enjoy it too!**

* * *

Monday morning was never easy. Takaba had been standing absentmindedly behind his tripod ever since the first photoshoot session began today. His hands moved on the camera with practiced reflexes despite his wandering mind. It never really occurred to him how last meeting's decision to utilize digital imaging for this week's project would be favorable to his performance as it decreased his workload aplenty. He had been erratically researching every details of Toei-Hansa Inc. – the joint corporation of several East Asian conglomerates moving specifically in pharmaceutics, including one branch supposedly under Watanabe Kiyoshi _et al_ – that the need to sleep became nothing more than a background noise.

He didn't come home last night. He only sent a short text to Kou, telling him he'd be gone for a night and he'd need not worry. Nobody had been bothering him since his last call to Asami. He went to the nearest 24-hour internet café and started collecting data with whatever resource he had. A few calls were made as he bargained for spills, anything that one might need to prepare before infiltrating any advanced facility with littlest chance of getting caught.

People in the market were quite surprised hearing from the young man again. Everyone, like the Father, had thought him gone for good. He got more than one or two questions of why he decided to spring back after laying low, but he couldn't care less to answer. Let the Father spread the news, it was enough telling him alone. In no time, words of the golden eyed revenant would be secret no more.

"_Find me Aihara Hiroto."_

Takaba knew he had requested the right thing. That man was more elusive than a snow leopard on the northern ridges of Pakistan. He'd found names, photos, identities, but none had belonged to the right person. Anything he could find was a shadow of what he needed and sadly, shadow was just what it was, a dark patch under the light, rendering too many things unseen. He finally gave up on the third hour of his search, reluctantly trusting Asami and his men to fill in the blanks he had failed to complete. He hoped those bastards had what resources he didn't to get this slippery individual.

Morning came too quickly to his dismay. Takaba had to keep whatever scrap he had gained and be satisfied with it. For now, at least. The young man was careful to erase every trace of his presence before leaving the café. He marched away to Kemushi, coming an hour early and trying to catch whatever rest he could get, which sadly was less than thirty minutes long before work started. He relied entirely on caffeine to survive the rest of the day.

That evening, as his shift was finally over, he couldn't help but wonder how long did he has before Asami chose to terrorize him again with another matter. He hadn't quite been able to focus much, loitering between sleep deprivation and anticipation of the next call. At the end of the day, though, lethargy began to take in and he thought of nothing more than wanting to get some rest – which, somehow deep down he knew, was merely wishful thinking.

That wishful thinking was true as can be. Once he stepped inside his shared home, he was met with not one, but two pairs of eyes boring through his skull. Kou and Takato had never been more persistent in their attempt to interrogate him. He even invited themselves into Takaba's bedroom without the young man's approval. They ignored the two dark circles under his eyes and kept pushing until Takaba caved, overall sleepiness gone, leaving a lingering guilt that told him he owed his buddies some explanation in the least.

Takaba rose himself from the futon, rubbing tired eyes and looking at the two, "I know you guys are pissed. But you gotta hear me out a bit, okay?"

Kou snorted, "You haven't exactly been giving us anything to hear, like, at all, dude," his friend threw his hands exasperatedly.

The photographer cringed at the truthfulness in his words. He really had been a jerk. Some things in his life had always been meant to be kept secret, including this shit he was dealing with now, for the most part. But these two were…well, _Kou__ and Takato._ Nothing was more liable than trust, and Takaba wouldn't think twice to trust them with his life.

They _deserved_ to know what was happening, albeit only on the surface.

"We know something's going on, Akihito." Takato, being the calmer of the two, said in a monotonous, almost gentle manner.

"Yeah, no shit. This ain't the first time you act weird, but it's the first after a long ass time. First you told me some creep met you, then you went home without your camera, last Sunday you got all defensive, even going to church! I thought you weren't a Christian? Don't at me, man, after all that 'course we'd get suspicious."

Closing his eyes, Takaba rubbed his face gently, trying to calm himself down, "I've got work recently."

His friends stopped making any noise at this point. Their faces slowly turned into a scowl. "You mean…work, work? Or the other kind of work?"

"The other one, Kou."

"Holy hell."

"I know!" Before he could raise his voice even higher, Takaba took a moment to regulate his breath. "I know what you're thinking. I know it's not right and I shouldn't be doing this again, but I promise there's a good reason."

"The same bullshit of a reason you named redemption?"

"Kou, come on."

"Fuck, Aki. I thought you've moved past this shit?"

"I have!"

"No, you _had_, and now you _haven't_ is what I see here, man!"

"Kou, please. I told you there's a good reason."

"A reason too good you can't even tell a word of it?"

"If you put it that way, whatever."

It was Kou's turn to sigh. Three young men fell into an uneasy silence afterward, as if waiting for the others to break it first. They sat still, looking into the emptiness of the room, each mind filled with differing train of thoughts, each having been unable to explain nor understand each other's turmoil. This tension brewing between them could only go downhill. Takaba knew it, yet he also knew what kind of alternative there was to offer if he spilled everything. His friends are the only people keeping him sane most of the time, he'd like to keep it that way. He'd prefer if they were kept at a distance, where no involvement would be required in his dangerous line of work.

Takaba cleched his teeth, his resolve had hardened.

"I'm really, really sorry. I can't afford to put anyone into the line of fire. You two-" the photographer chuckled, "You guys are the only people I can trust right now. So please, _please_ trust in me too while I tie up some loose ends."

Their eyes met in a long-lasting stand-off. Takaba had caved enough, Takato could tell. His friend's stubbornness played a major role in holding up the walls he chose to erect, impenetrable by no one unless the fiery photographer himself granted access. He had caved under the guilt of keeping them at an arms-length, but knowing Takaba, he'd never cave when it was his and Kou's safety on the line. The photographer would never let anyone he cared about knew too much.

Kou was also persistent, yet in the end he'd step down when he should cease. Those fire flickering behind Takaba's eyes were answer enough for the moment. Some things were just meant to be kept hidden, they had reached the point where nothing else would be revealed, even if they pry. Therefore Kou chose to let it go this time. These ups and downs weren't anything close to a novelty. The three of them had known and memorized its pattern. There would be a climb, a recess, unprecedented climax, and it would either come to a resolution or come crashing down, badly.

He guessed they would have to watch it be resolved or burn.

"You know," Takato said slowly, breaking another awkward silence between them, "I think I can try to understand, if you really don't want to talk about it."

Takaba looked at Takato with hope in his eyes. A small upturn was forming on the edges of his lips. "Yeah?"

"But you've got to promise us, don't die."

The photographer nodded, half-smile already forming. "I'll try my best."

"Good."

"Hold on," Kou interjected, "You gonna shut up about why you're suddenly back on business, but can't you tell us what kind of job you're dealing with now? At all?"

The two's anticipation for even a bit of a spill was broken instantly, "Nah."

"Not even about that wound on your neck?"

A deep, red blush colored Takaba's skin from head to toe before he even had a chance to spout a logical answer, which he'd actually prepared, mind you. The question just came when he was least expecting it.

Kou and Takato sniggered instantly.

"Shit! Our virginal cameraman has finally gotten laid!"

"NO!"

"Who was it? Someone from Kemushi? A one night stand?" Takato teased, curious.

"Takato, noooo. It's not what you think!" Takaba hastily covered the plastered mark with his hand. "I didn't get laid! He was a weird guy, we didn't even kiss!"

"So he just bit you?"

"Oooo, kinky."

"Oh gods..."

Takaba didn't know the red on his skin could turn even deeper. He covered his ears to protect himself from having to deal with their yowls of excitement, desperately reminding himself of the brighter side this mockery had brought: the atmosphere had lightened significantly.

* * *

Three young men, gathered inside a broke living room, drinking cheap beers and munching on some instant take-outs, spent the night wallowing on the floor while talking about nothing of importance. One of them bragged about his very pregnant wife, expecting to be a father less than two months away. One complained about an insatiable client demanding a perfectly programmed software with budget as thin as the space between his futon and the floor, in other words, almost nonexistent. One of them, a photographer, told in excitement of how he'd earned some decent pay for the first time in years and of his plan to finally get his own place soon enough. The trio had been busy with their own lives, being able to simply lay back and catch up had turned into rarity. Nobody dared to ruin the mood. They drank, not quite till drunk, but tipsy enough for the three to fall asleep ungraciously on the floor at the end.

Meanwhile silvery beams of moonlight shone through a small window on the wall, hours ticked by and the air turned colder. Goosebumps rose on the photographer's skin, the floor soon felt closer to ice than wood. But it wasn't the chilling temperature that woke him up from slumber. A muted sound suddenly rang and lured him back to wakefulness, abrupt yet faint. The other two didn't react due to their unfamiliarity to the tones.

Takaba shivered, he waited for the post-wake disorientation to pass before slipping away. The muffled noise was coming from his bag in the bedroom. He recognized it, could never mistook it for someone else's call.

Now the shiver that ran down his spine happened from an altogether different reason.

Time on his phone screen showed three A.M. He had barely slept over an hour. Lethargy creeped within his body, but the constant ring of the phone swept it away. He took a deep gulp of chilling air, then when mentally prepared, swiped the green icon with quivering fingers.

"_Takaba_," deep, baritone voice spoke right next to his ear, causing the healing the wound on his neck to throb in reminiscence.

The photographer didn't answer to his call. Believing that man needed no urging to state whatever he needed to convey.

"Get outside, I sent someone to get you."

Afterward, the line ended.

He desperately wanted to throw something. That man knew no manner whatsoever. It was early morning and he'd barely slept for the last 48 hours. He deserved rest, for the love of the gods….

Then again, Asami wasn't the type of man to prank call randomly. Something important must be going on. He reluctantly got ready, packing his gear and tiptoeing outside, pausing to drape a blanket over his friends before going through the door. He made sure to close it as quiet as possible to avoid another unnecessary conflict arising between them.

Downstairs was a black sedan, its window rolled down to reveal one man wearing shades even though there was barely enough lighting. He saw the man tipped his head to the side, beckoning him inside. So he ran down the stairs. Making sure nobody was around to see him, Takaba opened the passenger door and hopped in. They shared no greetings at all, the unknown man just checked him through the rearview mirror once before hitting the gas and drove. The photographer didn't utter a single word either. He paid full attention to the road, memorizing every turn to get a hold of where they could be heading.

Turned out the silent driver brought him to an old house at the edges of Tokyo. It wasn't the same house where he woke to see Asami staring at him with unrelenting gaze after his night out. This one was closed off to the public, had gates surrounding the yards with wires to slice anyone daring to trespass. The sedan got in after one quick inspection by a guard at the front gate.

Inside the terrain, they stopped right at the front door. Takaba got out and was approached by two men in black suit attaching to his sides. They ushered him through the dim hallways. He noted that he lights were all turned off, except ones that lit the path where he went through. The old house was mostly kept clean of any furnishing, he only saw two on his way – a lone padded armchair facing the moon at the window, and strangely, a long chest made of wooden planks laying untouched in the middle of an even darker room. They took a turn at the end of a hallway.

One of the men ushering him stepped forward to crouch. It was too dark to notice what he was about to do at first, but then Takaba realized he was opening a hidden passageway on the floor, its door creaked, hinges obviously screaming from lack of care.

"Asami-sama is waiting for you downstairs."

Takaba stared at the man, hesitant to follow through with the unspoken order. Downstairs was as dim, if not even rayless compared to up there. He swallowed thickly. One foot, then the other, and before he knew it, he had reached halfway of the descent. The door above his head was closed with the repeat of an unpleasant creak. He turned to look at the only exit he knew. There was no other way now, he had to go down.

The young man tried so hard to evict any haunting thought from his mind. His vision was locked strictly on his feet going down one step at a time. Before he knew it, he had reached the end of the path. He followed a narrow way to see a low light at the far corner.

As he peeked through the pane, a wordless scene greeted him. There were two men kneeling on the floor, hands cuffed behind their backs and the shackles were chained to their ankles. Their heads were bowed before none other than the source of his incommodity: Asami Ryuichi.

That man was as striking as he had seen days ago. A familiar brand of cigarette hung from between his lips. His long legs stood akin to pillars, sturdy in support of his gigantic presence.

And the gold of his eyes.

Oh, the burn of his eyes.

It made the wound on his neck twitch as shudders shook him.

"Well, aren't you shy, Takaba?"

Takaba jumped on the spot. Asami had known he was there despite the dark supposedly concealing him. He inhaled several liters of air before braving to expose himself fully and scanned the room to find glasses-guy and the hulking blond standing near their master.

"Why am I here?" He asked through rigid jaws.

The golden-eyed man blew a puff of white cloud toward the ceiling, he then stubbed the half burnt cigarette, putting its embers under black soles. "I have gone through an effort to fulfill your request, it would be appreciative of you to see what I present." He waved to the two men bowed before him.

The photographer stepped a tad bit closer, trying to identify both males. "Which one is him?"

Asami smirked, "That, young man, is what I cannot decide."

Unsure whether the man was serious, Takaba looked at glasses guy. His face was as serious as ever. Nobody seemed to be joking nor testing him, so he moved in front of the two kneeling men, but maintaining at least an arms-length distance from every other occupant in the room. He can't help but feel cautious in such close proximity with a revenant.

Looking at the men on the floor, he tightened his grip on the strings of his bag. Both were of the same age, hair black with heavy streaks of grey, face furrowed and battered with bruises. They had no conspicuous features to remember by and Takaba had never met nor seen Aihara's face before. The priest didn't mention any specific physical characteristics either. The only thing he could identify one from the other was the difference in their clothing choices – the man on the left wore common salaryman attire while the other one wore shirt and boots, complete with the apron of a butcher. He even still had his rubber gloves on.

"How did you get them?"

Asami handed him a folder. Inside of it were papers containing information pertaining the men. The man on the left was a supervisor at an insurance company, a divorcee, now living alone in an apartment in Kanda district. His name was written as Sakaguchi Motoi, age 52, criminal record none. He glanced at the man and got a staggeringly harsh glare in return, but still he hadn't speak.

The second person, Ikeda Kentaro, was a 55 year-old male with no family to speak of. He works as a fishmonger at Tsukiji market, supplying sea harvests including blue-fin tuna to hotels and gourmet restaurants across the city. Akin to the person next to him, this Ikeda had clean records. He somehow looked out of context sitting in front of them under suspicion of being the ex-scientist he was looking for.

"Aihara Hiroto has disappeared along with every employee that decided to file a case against Toei-Hansa. But he was one of the most elusive."

Takaba couldn't agree more.

"It took me a while to narrow down the possibilities, and as unlikely as it might seem, one of these men is the person you require."

Asami moved to sit at a nearby armchair, he leaned back and crossed his legs, staring down at Sakaguchi and Ikeda. Both men shriveled under his eyes.

"I don't know either. I've never seen his photos."

"Then ask them questions. I'm sure that deuced priest gave you little more than a name."

The fact that Asami knew about the Father shouldn't had surprised him, yet it still managed to leave an impact, had him wondering if the man had watched him for long even before they met at the camera store. He seemed to just _know_ too much it made Takaba itch to confront him. Sadly, now was not the time. He settled with an annoyed glance at the golden-eyed male.

"I am not an interrogator."

"No, but you're a journalist."

The young man shook his head, "My job doesn't entitle treating people like…this." He waved a hand at all the shackles and marks of assault, "You should let me do this normally."

"No," Asami rejected outright. "After all that experience in the underworld, you're still a naïve brat."

"Well, I don't find enjoyment from enacting violence, unlike _someone_ who mauled me in order to ask for a favor!"

The man no longer found their banter amusing. His expression turned colder a notch. "If you're so reluctant, then I'll proceed to do this my way."

A second later, Asami reached for a gun in his holster. He stood almost a head taller than the young man, walking closer to the ones kneeling. The gun was soon pointed at Sakaguchi.

Takaba bristled in a flash. He thought of nothing as he clasped his hands around Asami's wrist and pushed it away from the two men.

It fired, so loud, but the photographer made no move to release the man's hand.

"Are you crazy?! What the fuck?"

It was until the piercing blaze of molten gold gazed back at him only inches away did he started to realize the proximity his action had brought. He was stunned to his place, unable to retreat nor charge ahead.

Then Asami moved the gun again.

"Don't!"

The young man soon realized the severity of the situation. Asami didn't pull out the gun just to wave it around, he was actually intending to kill someone right in front of him.

It was something he couldn't bear to see again.

"No, keep it away! I-I'll figure it out, okay?" Takaba hated how his voice shook with terror. The bastard must had took notice of it, too, for he lowered his firearm and retreated to sit back on the chair.

"You have thirty minutes, then we'll do this my way."

That goddamned man was serious. He made it clear by not putting his gun back in its place.

_Crazy fucker_.

Proceeding to sat in front of the men – still kneeling, alert, and now seemed to have worked up a sweat, Takaba took off his bag and fished out Watanabe's photo.

He swallowed thickly.

"I don't want to make this any harder for the two of you," he started, "So please bear with me."

Sakaguchi was still giving him a harsh glare, hands clenched tight behind his back, while Ikeda kept staring at the floor passively.

"I'm sure at least one of you know of Watanabe Kiyoshi," he paused to see if they gave any reaction.

There was none.

"He runs a branch of Toei-Hansa joint corp. It's been problematic for decades but practically nobody has been able to expose them." He waited again, yet the two men remained stoic. So he continued reciting every single thing he had knowledge of pertaining the case. He had hoped to lure the real Aihara out of his fake shell by telling their intention of putting the corporation to its end. He mentioned the suspicion of illegal substance producing and worker rights abuse, also names of employees that disappeared after the court. It was a long list to reveal, he carefully exposed one fact after another, patiently gauging their every response.

Minutes were passing by, Asami's eyes boring on his back all the while. He was running out of time, yet there still wasn't a change in their stoic faces.

"Nobody had been able to give solid evidence at the court before. That's why we have a plan to infiltrate the factory and construct an irrefutable attestation. But it's too risky to dive in headfirst while we're virtually blind. We need someone who understands what we're going to deal with."

"Fuck off, brat."

Takaba snapped his head to the salaryman. This man was starting to get on his nerves. He'd been delaying their impeding death and no grateful at all he was being.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not who you're looking for," Sakaguchi turned his head slightly toward Ikeda.

The young man followed his line of vision, finding the fishmonger having worked up a sweat. His previously impassive behavior had slightly changed. He wasn't as calm as he was before, especially after having everybody's full attention on him.

Ikeda straightened up.

"I-I'm not Aihara Hiroto." He looked back at Sakaguchi, then to Takaba and the other occupants. "I never asked to be involved in this shit!"

Ikeda was so agitated that the chains keeping him in place rattled against each other. He tried to stand up, but the hulking blond suddenly came out of nowhere and pushed his shoulder back down.

"Let go, son of a bitch!" The man thrashed in his grip, "I have nothing to do with your shit! Go to hell! Go back to where you came from, Asami Ryuichi!"

He rambled on wildly, rabid with resistance and hatred. Sakaguchi scooted away from his flailing body, face filled with distaste. The chaos went on forever as the man threw strings of every cuss word Takaba had known since the day he was born. The photographer looked nervously at him, then to Asami, alarmed to find the man's patience stretched too thin before snapping.

Golden irises flashed as Asami stood, heading to the middle of the chaos with his gun. The young man's eyes widened. He gathered himself up, blocking Asami on the way to execute his obvious intention.

"Asami! I still have five minutes left!"

"Go on, fucker! Shoot me! I ain't afraid of a dead man! Fujimoto was right to have buried a maniac like you!"

"Shut your mouth!" Takaba yelled back, genuinely worrying for the man's life. He didn't know how much it took for Asami to finally shove him aside and reach Ikeda. Because he understood, if the man wanted to he could throw the photographer like a ragdoll and put a bullet between the man's eyes.

When Asami seemed unfazed by his effort, Takaba decided to throw himself at him, halting his movement with putting both palms on solid chest. "Back off!"

The snarl managed to divert the man's attention to Takaba. He draped an arm over his shoulder and squeezed hard. The photographer was prepared for impact on concrete after he was casted aside, closing both eyes and tensing his muscles.

But strangely, Asami never so much as pushed him away. So Takaba dared to open his eyes again. The first thing he saw was a perfect Armani tie circling one stout neck, and the beginning of a frown as he moved upward to see his face.

Their eyes met, gold and hazel, in a quiet battle for power. Takaba felt the familiar sensation of having this man too close, his hair stood on end, throat dry, knees weak. He'd lose this round pathetically if he didn't get away from the intensity of it. Ikeda would definitely get that bullet.

"Three minutes have passed," said the baritone voice.

Despite stunned for a moment, Takaba snapped back to it. He swallowed through a lump in his throat, nodding weakly and turned around in Asami's arm. He shook it off him and kneeled in front of the now calmer Ikeda.

"Are you Aihara Hiroto?"

Ikeda growled back at him, "I know nothing of him."

_Shit. _He had slightly more than a minute left. He needed to get a grip. He could do this. He must remember what he'd been taught.

The photographer took a deep breath. "Are you Aihara Hiroto?!" His voice boomed within the walls, causing the two men in front of him to jump slightly. He scrutinized Ikeda, now had cowered slightly. The monger's eyes were red, beads of cold sweat dripping down his temple as his face scrunched up in unrest while his chest rose up and down irregularly.

"I said I ain't him, fucker."

Takaba squinted his eyes. Checking at Sakaguchi. The man was much calmer, though he averted his eyes immediately when the hazel met them.

This was a hard choice to make.

"Your time is up, Takaba."

The sharp notice flew through the room. He bit his lip.

"Tell me which is which."

He couldn't be sure yet. Ikeda still behaved the same, his jaw clenched so tight he could see the muscles on his cheek twitching, and Sakaguchi hadn't moved an inch, his head slightly lowered and tilted away from everybody, trying to attract no attention to him.

An implausible answer crashed down on the photographer, his scowling face turned to that of surprise. He turned his eyes away from Ikeda, unto the other man.

He tilted his head further.

But before Takaba could decide on anything. Asami spoke again, "Which one?" He was suddenly up close, feet standing several inch behind him.

The photographer whipped his head to look at the man. He hastily rose. "I-I still-"

Asami snorted as he cocked his gun. "We'll do this my way."

"Wait!" Takaba reflexively held the gun away. "Wait, I think I know!"

Unfortunately, the Asami Ryuichi was a man of his words. He had given Takaba time, it ran out already. The photographer's yells fell on deaf ears. He shoved him aside roughly, and just like he'd thought before, he was thrown like he weighed nothing.

"There's only one Aihara." Asami pointed his gun at Sakaguchi. "I suppose the leftover won't mind getting disposed of?" His voice disturbingly portrayed a mix of anger, anticipation, and _glee_. This sick man enjoyed what he was about to do.

Sakaguchi's eyes widened. He struggled to move away from the end of the barrel.

"NO! It's him! Asami, it's him!" Takaba had managed to crawl back up, reaching armed man. "It's Aihara," he repeated through hitched breath. "Don't hurt him."

As if confirming the photographer's words, Asami glanced at Sakaguchi. The man was stunned in fear, all pretense had evaporated in thin air. His chest shook with the effort to calm his breathing. Takaba followed to find the same sight.

"You still have keen eyes, I see." Asami commented on the photographer's choice, finally lowering his gun, then he gave a nod to the glasses guy – almost forgotten in the midst of chaos. His subordinate bowed slightly.

"I will begin the disposal right away, Asami-sama." After the curt answer, Kirishima gave a set of keys to the hulking blond. He proceeded to unshackle the man's limbs all the while keeping him on the floor.

Takaba was shaken out of a momentary peace. He clenched his grip on Asami's arm. "What are you gonna do?"

The golden eyes glinted down at him. He saw a sick smile forming on his lips. "Eliminating unnecessary witness, of course."

The photographer paled that instant. He pushed himself away from an ever-emanating feel of insanity that radiated in waves from him.

"Can't you go through another option?"

Asami raised an eyebrow. "What, exactly?"

Millions of thoughts raced inside his mind. He could propose to let the man go, but he knew the chance of Asami obliging such pacifist idea was close to zero.

"Maybe…maybe you could keep him somewhere, away from here?"

The sick man seemed to think for a second, then he called for someone. "Suoh."

The gigantic blond stopped on his track, looking back at the man, "Yes, sir?"

"Hold on a minute. I'd very much love to see what our photographer has in mind." He smirked all too jovial in this situation, giving a nod to Takaba. "Go ahead. Do what you deem as fit."

Unsure as what he ought to do at first, the young man stared back at Ikeda. The chained man was gritting his teeth and silently seething his anger. Takaba's breathing shuddered. He made careful steps and kneeled slowly next to him. "Ikeda-san. You need to do as I say." He said lowly, putting a hand on Ikeda's shoulder, intending to soothe.

Apparently the kind gesture was not appreciated.

The next thing Takaba knew was Ikeda hitting his cheekbone with one chained wrist. His head whipped to the side as he fell flat, an unfamiliar bodyweight straddling his middle immediately. The world was spinning for one second. He made out some words through muted hearing, expecting more blows to land on his head when Ikeda pulled him up by the collar.

Everything happened too fast. The pain consuming his conscious struck like lightning. It was brusque yet powerful at the same time.

But that was the one and only pain he received.

When the dizziness began to level, Takaba looked to the side, finding two men brawling on the ground.

No.

More like one man _writhing_ on the ground while the other rained blows at him. He must had gotten a minor concussion to find such sight comedic. The gap of power became amusing as that man on the floor stood no chance against his assailant. He was in for a brutal end.

Takaba almost laughed at the odd turn of events. Fortunately he sobered up not long after. The sight before him had quickly morphed into more of a grotesque scene. Blood splattered everywhere, the crack of bones never sounded clearer.

Asami was methodically beating Ikeda to death.

That single realization was all it took for Takaba to scream. He crawled on fours to Asami, embracing one sturdy leg and begged him to stop.

It didn't have to end this way.

He couldn't bear to watch the demise of another man.

Before he knew it, warm drops of tears had started to fall like diamonds. He was clutching the man's limb so tight that the man had no choice but to stop. Even then, the photographer kept crying, his body trembled with the force of fear, against what would come to pass, and what had. The sight of violence too much for him. Red was all he saw at this point.

* * *

"_It's going to rain any minute now."_

_Wistful in nature. The young man would pick no other word to describe the man whose visage looked as somber as shadows overcast. Behind the swaying stalks of ripening field, two lone figures sat closer than ever before. And beneath the infinite vastness of a colorless night sky, the scent of rain and iron was unmistakable. They had to move soon._

"_Hang in there, old man," Takaba slung a hand around the other. "Keep pressing it down, we gotta go."_

_Blood was curdling from an open wound. A red, angry gash across skin, cutting so deep inside it became a miracle that guts hadn't started spilling out._

_Takaba didn't want to look._

"_I can't, son," he said with a hitch of breath. Legs faltering to support himself as the young man coaxed them to move. "You should leave."_

_The young man felt tightness forming in his chest, "No. You can do this, we have to move!"_

"_Takaba-"_

"_We're so close! We're gonna get help!" Words came out in a slur, tears dropped as the rain began falling around them. "We gonna get help, you hear me? You gonna make it!"_

_The somber visage gave him an even graver smile. He relented his hold on Takaba's shoulder, falling to the side instantly._

"_NO!" The young man reached for him in desperation. Gently, he rolled the limp body on the dirt. "Don't do this, old man. We're almost there."_

_Sorrowful eyes looked at the sky. There were no stars up there tonight, only dark clouds and rumbling thunder. What a shame, "You did a great job, son. Now move along…. I…."_

_There was a long exhale of breath, and then silence._

_The young man froze. He searched for another gasp of air, a beat of a heart. He searched the pair of glazed eyes, waiting for the other to speak again. He hadn't finished it, had he? What had he meant to say? What had he meant for him to do?_

_Takaba realized soon enough, he was hoping for answers that would never come._

_Then the rain turned into deluge that night. Shed blood had become diluted, as was his tears._

* * *

He didn't exactly remember what befell the two captives afterward nor when gentle hands landed on him to pry his tenacious grip off the man's leg. What he remembered, though, was those same hands lifting him off the ground to drag him away from all the mess, toward dark hallways, up on wooden stairs and dimmed rooms, to end up on a soft mattress in a quiet enclosure.

Everything turned silent, only the sound of hiccups and sobs filled his surroundings. Presence of another being mostly forgotten, until tender caresses began to wipe the moisture away from his cheeks, carefully avoiding the beginning of a bruise.

He came face to face with the sight of something unforeseen.

Those molten gold was still burning with anger, but somewhere between the blazes, Takaba thought he saw a different kind of emotion too complicated to describe. Something akin to fear and perturbation, something conflated within arrays of inexplicable cathexes.

He could almost see it as…concern.

Pure and raw.

But Takaba shook the thought away. His head must had been far more fucked than he thought. There was no way he could interpret a millisecond of emotion as something so unbefitting of the man. He was someone ruthless in many ways, almost psychopathic in his numbness of others' projected feelings. There was simply _no way_.

The photographer turned his head, trying to escape the soft touches still lingering on his skin. They stayed silent until his tears receded to fall and his breathing had calmed. All the while, Asami never moved from his spot on the mattress, observing every details of the photographer's face.

"You shed unnecessary grief," the man softly spoke.

Takaba closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath. "You have no right…."

Then a warm hand enclosed over his jaw, forcing him to face the golden eyed man.

"He is not an innocent."

"He's a human being!" Takaba interjected.

Asami kept holding him close, his eyes searched the photographer's face, but for what exactly, he could only guess.

"You begged me not to end his life."

The man's intensity became unbearable after a while, so Takaba averted his eyes. He tried to put more distance between them to no avail. Asami's hold was as firm as the roots of an ancient willow tree.

"Will you beg for your own?" The words were whispered with ice. "Will you beg for mine?"

The question managed to catch him off guard. He looked back at the man's eyes, perplexed when he found no clue to the context of his words. Asami seemed to have found what he was searching, for a full smirk decorated his previously stoic face. His questions were pretty much rhetoric. He awaited for no response, least verbally. Those golden eyes had read through the photographer's mind and he came collecting his own answer without Takaba's knowing.

A twitch of a hand was all it took. Just a small gesture, the faintest of movement, became the only sign of what befell him next.

Soft, warm lips crashed on his own, no subtlety whatsoever. Asami ravaged him like the man he was: inevitable and powerful. The photographer fell on his back, the mattress welcoming him as teeth began clashing against teeth. Their breath mingled into one, one's hands roamed freely on a lithe body while the other's tensed, unable to push wide shoulders away despite how much he wanted to.

He hadn't a single taste of such passion before. A slick muscle invaded his mouth, never asking for permission, licking every crevice and deliberately lingering on his most sensitive spots. The man was unrelenting. Takaba felt his shirt hitched upward as cool air hit him. The contrasting warmth that grasped him felt like fire. Long, toughened fingers wandered to places that rendered him hapless. He moaned into the man's mouth as he played with the reddened peaks of his chest.

His breath completely left him. Asami retreated from the photographer's mouth with a slight tug of his lip, then he moved the center of his attentiveness unto Takaba's neck, ripping the covering of his wound to reveal a healing scar – _his_ scar.

He heard a low growl.

Takaba was still trying to catch his breath when Asami dived to nibble on his neck, giving soft kisses on places he never knew would lit a flame inside. Inevitably, Takaba got hard. The reaction didn't slip the golden eyed man's attention. He felt broad hand palming his hardness, stroking the bulge of his jeans.

A long moan was the only cue Asami needed to proceed. He opened the photographer's jeans, exposing the reddening phallus. Naked skin touched against one another. A thumb swiped across the tip, causing him to jerk. The sensation came in continuous waves as he was stroked with a well-practiced pace.

Weak and writhing. Those were the only options he had to channel every strike of pleasure. Indecent whimpers poured out of his mouth. He felt burning hot under the scrutiny of those molten gold, now glazed with unbridled lust.

The movements of his hand quickened gradually, exponentially. His foreskin was pulled back, then agile fingers began to concentrate its attention on the sensitive head.

Takaba could no longer contain himself. With a last flick, he came.

His orgasm dominated his senses and tuned out everything else. He might had blacked out for a second before crashing down with the aftermath. His body contracted weakly in pulses. Hands gripping Asami's suit so tight they would surely leave crumples behind.

Then all strength left him. His arms fell onto the bed, chest heaving with from the relief. He felt the warm hand traveled on his skin, gathering the product of his release and smearing it on his lips.

Asami ducked to lick it off, giving him a second kiss, cleaning all traces of white on his skin by broad swipes of his tongue. The photographer's oversensitive nerves fired sensations too intense to enjoy. He clutched Asami's hair desperately as he nibbled at the tip of his erection.

"Asami, I can't. I can't…."

His helpless moan only served to please the man. Those lips curled upward on him before clamping down for the last time.

Takaba couldn't help the scream.

He was overwhelmed.

Felt like he's about to fade.

But thankfully the sensation stopped.

Asami had lifted himself off the debauchery he created. His hair was down, making the gorgeous visage even more sinfully attractive.

"Exquisite," he commented, voice rough and gravelly.

Takaba made valiant effort to keep what was left of his dignity. He tucked himself back in and covered his torso, pulling the shirt over his exposed chest. The sticky leftovers would pose a nasty stain, he knew, but he didn't care. Hiding the blush of his skin was the priority.

"You're a bastard."

The man chuchkled. He started to lower himself again and Takaba's fight was disappearing instantly. "There's no need to feel ashamed for enjoying what pleasure you can get."

Another kiss landed on his lips, this time nothing more than a peck.

"I suppose you are calm now."

The photographer averted his eyes, cheeks still flushed and warm. He nodded absentmindedly and covered his lips. They were tingling.

"Good."

Then Asami rose from the bed, leaving him to wonder if the man was at all affected by the lust they consumed only moments ago. He was pleased to notice a slight rise at the front of the man's trouser.

Should he return the favor?

A snort caused him to reel in his straying mind. The man had seen him staring at his crotch. How embarrassing.

"Don't worry about me," he said lightly, "If you're feeling calm enough now, we should proceed to pick up where we left."

"I-I'm not thinking of that!" The denial was so pathetic that Asami cocked an eyebrow in amusement.

"Is that so?"

Takaba frowned. "Fucker."

Seeing the feisty photographer had made a comeback, Asami nodded an approval. He then continued to walk out the door, looked back at him from the hallway and waited.

The urge to rebel was huge. He could stay back and not do what the man wanted, he could fight again, but Takaba decided against it. He lowered his legs onto the floor, slowly standing up before following Asami to where the cause of all these troubles were, keeping a considerable distance all the while.

* * *

It had almost reached four years.

No.

Five years now.

Aihara had spent a long time hiding from the ghosts of his past. Plenty of them, some less haunting than others, some even actually brought pleasant memories along.

But of course, there would always be a superlative.

One ghost was bigger and most evil than the rest. This particular one he had spent his recent five years running from, incessantly.

He once believed that a man like him deserved no peace and he'd never find it. When things started to go smoothly, it was truly foolish of him to think he had escaped completely. His new life as a mediocre salaryman who worked nine to five had dulled his senses. The façade of Sakaguchi Motoi tricked him into a false sense of security. But he knew nobody was to blame. Anyone who longed for tranquility would most probably do the same.

His shortcomings arrived in the personification of a demon. Someone who'd been known for his merciless nature, a sadistic creature whom even Fujimoto himself feared. The revenant of an apprentice with eyes resembling treasures under the warm belly of a dragon.

_Asami Ryuichi._

The son of a bitch showed up without prior notice. He barged into Aihara's life like axe splitting through wood. There really wasn't a single notice. The only thing signifying the man's presence were glints of gold, and when he finally saw him, it was too late. He'd been hauled into an unknown territory. There could only be two possibility as of why he hunted him down: the man wanted to kill Aihara Hiroto or something monumental was required of him.

The incoming of a youthful presence confirmed their intention. Either way, Aihara was reluctant to let himself be plunged back into the hellhole he staked his life upon to avoid. These bastards were all the same. Once they had used him up, they would throw him away like waste down the drain.

That was why it shocked him to be reminded how the world housed some of humanity's greatest paradox. He witnessed a pure soul within the young man who came to meet them. He wasn't just a random kid off the streets if he knew Asami Ryuichi. World of darkness shouldn't be unfamiliar to him, yet he bawled his eyes at the possibility of someone biting the bullet.

Tears of naïveté, or pity. He wasn't certain.

But one thing he could confirm, those falling diamonds had saved lives.

The fishmonger was given another chance to breathe, at least until Asami decided otherwise. Aihara was unharmed. Everything took an unexpected turn. He admitted it all led to one conclusion in the end for him: Aihara Hiroto had to step up. The stage no longer belonged to Sakaguchi.

Therefore he didn't even bother hide again when Asami's underlings transferred him to a separate room from Ikeda. He was brought upstairs, into another dimly lit room, scarcely furnished aside from one clock hanging on the wall. Time ticked by monotonously as he waited inside, thankfully now with arms and legs freed, allowing him to venture near a window where silvery beads of moon light washed upon him.

"I must admit, you outsmarted me for a moment back then."

Aihara didn't need to turn. He recognized the tone already.

"Were it not for Takaba, I would have put a bullet in the wrong skull."

"Would it be strange if I said I was quite looking forward to it?"

"No. That would make for good entertainment." Asami chuckled. "But sadly, your death isn't supposed to happen just yet."

How genteel, this demon.

The old man finally turned to face him, noticing the young man – Takaba – tentatively watching him behind Asami's broad back. The poor child was unsure. He probably wondered if further savagery would occur within the confines of the room.

Aihara heaved a sigh.

"Asami Ryuichi. Nobody has been able to bring them down for ages. Why would this be any different?"

"Because, Aihara," Asami walked up to him. They stared eye to eye, "I'm no nobody."

"You're so full of yourself."

"Well. I don't run and hide from my fears," the baritone stated firmly. "Do you plan to cower for the rest of your miserable life? Or are you brave enough to kill the demons you've been fleeing from?"

That struck too close to home. It hurt, but he was right nonetheless. He'd wasted years of his life moving from one hiding place to the next. Today he'd learned that peace was evanescent for the likes of them, even after Asami went by, Aihara knew better to expect what was next. There would be no end unless he ended it with his own hands.

"I can help you," he started, rather doubtful of himself, "But I won't guarantee a success."

The golden eyed man smirked. "Very good. That is all I need."

Fujimoto Eiji had made a mistake all those years ago. He shouldn't have picked this creature to be brought as his apprentice. Rumor had it, the young man under his teachings grew into a demon more ruthless and bloodthirsty than all of Sumiyoshi-kai combined. Aihara never had the chance to confirm the truth behind such hearsay, but after seeing the man up close, somehow he wouldn't be surprised if it was a naked truth.

"So, shall we begin?" The man virtually sounded like the Devil's incarnate.


End file.
